


Survive

by WhisperElmwood



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Flashbacks, Gen, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperElmwood/pseuds/WhisperElmwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[A character sketch - trying to pin down Tony Stark.] Tony doesn't like what he sees in the mirror - not that he ever has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survive

A month. Well, three weeks. Well, eighteen days. It’s been eighteen days since his return to America, to his home, with the clean lines and white walls, comfortable bed, the view, the freedom. Eighteen days since he returned to his friends. To the only three people in the whole world who would ever care if he never returned.

Tony stares at himself in the mirror, lit only by the light of the ARC reactor, skin washed out, making him look as ill as he feels deep down inside.

Callused fingers trail down his chest, pause, rest against the scarred, raised flesh above the alien object embedded in his sternum. And it _is_ an alien object; for all that he built it himself. It’s foreign, it’s inorganic, _it’s not meant to be there_.

He doesn’t want to touch it, doesn’t want to feel the difference between raised, scarred flesh, and cold, solid metal and glass. Doesn’t want to, but does. Tony’s fingers move the slight distance and his breath catches, stops all together. He presses his fingers against the rim of the ARC reactor’s casing, feels the edge of it dig into his finger-tips. Feels nothing else. There is no sensation from the _thing_ in his chest, just the barest hint of pressure deep inside his chest.

For a split second, he panics, mind transported to waking in the dank, dark cave, the smell of mildew, gun powder, ozone and stale sweat heavy in the air, a line through his nose, down his throat, something embedded in his chest, something wrong, something dead, cold, painful – what’s happened? Where is he? What-

He blinks, returns to the present and swallows, takes a deep breath.

He survived, he reminds himself, fingers lying lax against the casing, casting strange shadows through the blue-white light of the reactor. He survived the bomb that literally had his name on it. He survived the back-alley operation. He survived the torture.

He’s home. Pepper, Rhodey, Obie – he’s back with them. He’s not alone. Even if he feels alone, he knows he isn’t.

Yinsen’s slack, lifeless face flashes behind his eyes and he chokes, catches himself.

His hand drops, away from the ARC reactor, to the edge of the sink where he grips with both fists, knuckles going white as he stares at his reflection again.

He’s alive. He’s made the changes with the company, started work on the Iron Man armour. Apologised to Pepper for freaking her out.

The guilt still hangs heavy. He fears it will never leave him. Fears what may happen if it does.

Tony pushes away from the sink, pushes his hands through his hair, forces his breathing to even out.

“Sir?”

JARVIS manages to convey worry, despite his programming – or perhaps because of it. He grunts, and the AI continues, “You are registering elevated stress levels, sir. Do you require my services?”

Tony barks a short, high pitched laugh, feeling a little manic. “No. Just – just go about whatever needs going about.”

JARVIS makes a noise that would be a sigh on something with lungs, “Sir.”

He grabs the nearest shirt, pulls it on, carefully concealing the light of the reactor for now. It’s bad enough that he already had _issues_ to deal with; the constant reminder of Afghanistan permanently embedded in his chest is giving him all sorts of new complexes. It’s great. Fine. Fun, even.

If he’s drinking a little more than usual, it doesn’t mean anything. No one has to know.

He can deal with this.


End file.
